Chapter 25
Nikolai
It’s practically impossible to think about business when my dick refuses to calm the hell down. I haven’t been able to get rid of my erection since I was forced to leave her this afternoon. A lot of calls I can ignore, certainly when it comes to menial things. However, Daniel might have information I need.
I made it all the way to the warehouse before he let me know the lead he thought he had, turned out to be nothing.
Then Mr. Rossi had decided to play host in his own home, which complicated everything. I could hardly stand to shake his hand properly. Given that he is a man who takes formalities and manners very seriously, I nearly offended him.
I could not get the image of Anya bent over that bench, trying to grab her ankles out of my head. Her ass is mostly healed, but I can almost make out the imprint of my hand. Every damned time that I close my eyes, I keep picturing my hand replacing those marks on her perfect ass.
Once my business concluded, I have been waiting for her to return so that I can do exactly that.
She should be back by now. She should have been back over an hour ago.
I knew I should have gone with her. It went against my better judgment to allow her to leave the room by herself. Even with my men, I would feel better if she was with me instead. I told Ivan to take her to the tourist spots that they could fit into an afternoon, while I paid respects to the man whose house I’m defiling.
Mr. Rossi is a long-time family friend. Though I suppose the term ”friend” is a bit of an exaggeration given that the two of us have a... tense truce. We deal with different thingsand strive to stay within our respective quadrants of the world to the best of our abilities. Though we can”t always avoid overlap. I”ve opened my home to him a few times over the years, and he”s doing the same for me now. Sometimes if the police and investigators come poking around a bit, we have been a good, solid hideout with more than enough distance from our known contacts to lay low for a while. We have been both temporary safe houses, and plausible alibis for one another over the years.
We had been keeping track of who owed who what at the start of the arrangement, but I have no idea how high those numbers would be now. I figured having lunch with the man in his own home was the least I could do. Besides, with all of Rossi”s underworld and black market dealings, he”d be the ideal person to ask if anything unusual had been noted or seen from one Peter Griffith.
Regrettably, the man had not seen much. On that front, everything was too quiet. It was almost as if Griffith knew that he had crossed a line and was waiting for me to come to him. He would be sorely disappointed. I”ve already won in so many ways.
Perhaps Griffith knows that too.
Ivan should have been back twenty minutes ago. I have checked the route that they should have taken, and there isn’t any excess traffic and he knows better than to be late without saying something.
I am leaning in a brown leather armchair, pointed directly at the double doors leading outside. My men stand on either side of the door, and every few minutes they glance nervously at one another. My tense grip on the arm of the chair has nearly torn a hole in the furniture, and I am about three seconds away from getting up and pacing around.
They are right to be fearful of what my temper might do if I lose control.
I pick up my phone from the arm of the chair and turn on the screen, only to see no notifications. My grip on the device tightens, the metal edges biting into my calloused skin as I squeeze. I can feel the glass screen protesting under the pressure that I’m putting on it, and have to drop it roughly to keep from breaking the thing. I am not known for handling my temper and this is testing me.
Where are they?
The calls are going straight to voicemail. The tracker in Ivan’s phone is reporting in the exact same place that it has for the last hour. I can’t take it any longer. I push up from the chair so quickly that it scoots back against the floor and is left at an awkward angle. I snatcha set of keys from the pegboard beside the front entrance and yank both doors open at once.
My men follow me silently down the stairs to the large cars parked in the driveway. I slide into the driver”s seat of the one in front, connect my phone to the car”s GPS system, and navigate to Ivan”s last known location before speeding off.
I know my men are behind me, I’m grateful for their loyalty now more than ever because if somehow, something has happened to Ivan, of all people, I’m going to need them.
They are used to much bigger disturbances than this. They are accustomed to bullets and gunfights, hell, I choose my men carefully, making sure they have a little bit of adrenaline junkie in them. I can’t have men who are afraid of pain—who don’t have a little bit of a death wish. This life isn’t suited for softness of character.
I don’t absorb any of the scenery around me as I drive. Everything becomes a blur as I zip through the city, racing toward that little red dot on my map. Cars swerve angrily out of my way, honking their horns at me and I don’t stop or slow. They will move or they will get run the fuck over.
I slam my car into park at the end of the alley where the red dot still blinks. I grab the AK-47 from the passenger in one hand, and don’t bother turning the car off as I exit and move into the alleyway. Everything smells like berries. My shoes stick to the cobblestone on the ground, and I can see smashed bits of gelato cone, a tiny plastic tasting spoon crushed and jutting at a strange angle from between the cobblestones. I recognize the purple smear on the ground; the red currant that I told Anya is my favorite. She had gotten me gelato. She had gotten me gelato, and somebody had ruined it, attacked her and Ivan from the looks of it.
How is that possible? Ivan is the best of the best, nobody gets the drop on him.
I have about a hundred questions without answers and my rage is quickly threatening to swallow me whole. If somebody has harmed her—I will burn this entire city to the ground.
Someone groans from the other end of the alley. A lump on the ground moves, and my gun is aimed and ready in the blink of an eye. A glint of gold catches my eye, and I rush over to the person who is starting to stir. It”s too small to be Anya”s bracelet, and as I get closer, I notice it”s Ivan”s pinky ring. His fingers wiggle in an attempt to lift his head, and then he collapses. I snap my fingers, and my men are at my side, assisting him up.
His face is disfigured, one of his eyes is swollen shut, it looks like they have kicked out a couple of his teeth, his breathing is ragged. My men drape one of his arms over each of their shoulders, and I press a hand to his chest to steady him, I can feel blood soaking through his shirt. He needs a hospital. Ivan coughs, and just as I thought, one of his teeth goes flying from his mouth and hits the cobblestone. There is fire and malice in his working eye as he turns it up to me. He gave them everything that he had, that much I know.
“How many?”
“Seven,” he breathes, the word comes out with a gurgle of blood. He’s in really bad condition.
“Who?!” I demand, needing an answer. I need to know if there was an insignia, marks, brands, tattoos, anything at all, but Ivan slumps over again, unconscious.
My teeth grind together so hard my jaw pops. It was an ambush then. I have to assume that they jumped them like the dirty, rotten cowards that they obviously are. How long had they been watching them? They have taken Anya. That much is obvious. How could this have happened?
I nod to my men, who carry Ivan to the car that they came in, taking him off to the hospital.
Rage courses through me so strongly, so instantly, I punch the brick wall of the alleyway. My shout is something feral. I never shared well, and Anya has been mine since the moment I took her from that nightclub. I don’t like other people touching my things.
As soon as my vision clears from the red haze, I pull my phone from my pocket and head back to my car. I throw the gun into the passenger seat, and start to summon more of my men for the full-scale assault that I’m about to launch, when two messages come in at the same time.
The first, from Daniel the Dork, my tech wizard.
The tracker in the bracelet has been damaged. I am working on repairing the connection remotely, this will take time.
Somehow, he always knows what is going on. I don’t know how he does it, and I don’t care. All that matters right now is that he is on my side, and he is doing everything in his power to help me find her. He must have been alerted the moment that the bracelet was damaged. If they have harmed her in the process of her abduction—I almost feel sorry for them. They will learn a whole new definition of pain by the time that I am through with them. I’m shaking too hard with rage, making it impossible to try to answer him. No doubt he knows me well enough to know that.
I press to open the second message, when an unknown caller rings in.
Daniel the Dork Texts: Answer it, I’m listening in boss. Got your back.
I answer the phone call. A person speaks in a distorted voice, deep and attempting to be ominous.
“Come to the docks at the Port of Civitavecchia alone, or Anya dies. You have one hour.” The line goes dead with a click.
I glance at the clock. An hour is not enough time to get back to my men, and I know that Daniel is likely summoning them to my side, or meet me at the dock. So, I pull off and program in the docks—I will be there with more than enough time to spare.
Daniel calls, and I answer. “I want to know how the fuck they got her,” I demand.
“I’m working on that now, Boss. I’m not yet entirely certain just who it is that kidnapped her—your list of enemies isn’t exactly short.”
“It’s not the Italians, they aren’t stupid enough to go back on our business deals so quickly. They will attempt to double-cross me, but not so quickly. This has to be Griffith somehow, and I want to know how.”
“I’m working on it boss, I’ll be in contact.” Daniel hangs up on me.
I can’t even be mad at him for hanging up the way that he did.
Every single thought empties from my mind until there is nothing but rage, nothing but a single-minded focus on the task at hand. Her father wouldn’t threaten to kill her, at least, I want to think that he wouldn’t—but he hadn’t made a single move to try to get her back from me either. So, what is his goal? What is the end game here?
My tires squeal against the cobblestone as I accelerate through town to the location they requested. With that many men,and only one gun I can easily access, the odds aren”t good,but it doesn”t matter.
I arrive at the port in record time, unimpressed with the mundane meeting location.
Everything smells like brine and sea salt. Seagulls squawk overhead, circling in loops. Ships of every shape and size are scattered along the lengthy ports. Discarded materials that the fishermen and dock workers have left in preparation for tomorrow’s labor have been left strewn about.
I narrow down the possible options of holding places, my eyes and ears peeled. I have my gun at the ready, and another tucked into the back of my slacks. I’m ready for whatever they have coming for me. I move slowly through the spaces until I spot the only shipping vessel with a plank still attached. The door leading into the side is open. Practically an invitation, and absolutely a trap.
However, I don’t have much choice. I cannot allow harm to come to Anya, even if the chances are slim.
The inside of the ship is dim, and it feels like every stealthy step that I make echoes somehow. I don’t hear any signs of life, not even the scurrying of a rat’s feet as I move over the metal grid that is the floor. Lights come in from open hatches in the ceiling of the ship, and I move from one to the other slowly, waiting for something. Waiting for the ambush, for somebody to come jumping out, for someone to get the drop on me—but I find nothing.
I descend the metal stairs into the belly of the beast and all of the lights come on at once. All of a sudden there is power everywhere, and I can see the trap that I purposefully walked into.
Peter Griffith and his right-hand man Elias are standing on either side of a chair that is illuminated by all the spotlights; Anya slumped over, bound and gagged.